Midnight Rendezvous
by BookDragon
Summary: Rated T because of blood. Maybe I'll mark it down. Um, basically a story based on my own musings. One shot. A boy wakes to screaming each night. Trying to figure out if he's going crazy, he decides to see what it is. Erm, I'll take criticism and flames. I


Book Dragon: "This is a result of a musing. I don't own Hellsing (though it would be awesome if I did) or any of the characters in here. I hope you enjoy this."

**Midnight** **Rendezvous**

It was the ungodly screaming that woke him up.

After three months of living here, it still woke him up. He'd lie still in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he was completely and utterly bonkers as his ears continually insisted that it existed. After three months of walking around the next morning and finding no one talking about it, no one asking about it, no one making the slightest mention to it, despite all of his time focusing on conversations. No. Nothing.

Was he crazy? Had he finally lost his marbles? Could he possibly have the imagination to make up such horrific shrieking?

The honest truth was he really couldn't tell. Several times, through out the day, he almost had half a mind to ask Sir Hellsing about it. It was also on the tip of his tongue, ready to come out, something like 'So do you hear anything…odd in the night, Sir Hellsing?'. It was a temptation and in the end he couldn't quite allow himself to ask such a foolish question when his living situation was so precarious.

If his employer suddenly thought him nuts, where would he go? How would he survive? He was lucky he had a job and a roof over his head when so many others were stuck living in the streets and barely making it by. He couldn't recall how many times he saw kids his own age, dressed in rags and patches, asking for food and shivering. They almost always reminded him of himself before he was found by Sir Hellsing.

He was _beyond_ lucky.

His ears insisted on another scream.

He turned over and tried to close his green eyes and just go to sleep. If he could sleep, then he could ignore all of it and pretend he wasn't loosing his mind. He could pretend Mom and Dad didn't die. He could lie to himself and dream that he was back on the farm and they were busy planting wheat for next year. Yes, things even then had been hard, but at least his parents had been _alive._

Another twisting howl.

He opened his green eyes to the dark. Considered throwing the blanket over his head and trying to roll over and forget it. _But it wasn't going away._ Most nights the screaming would start at about two in the morning and end at roughly three. Now, as he finally sat up with a sigh and looked at his alarm clock, he could see it was at least four in the morning.

Was _this_ how people lost their minds?

Fifteen minutes passed. It was a long fifteen minutes where he argued the thing out in his head. An unusually cautious boy at the age of ten, he thought it through carefully, methodically. It was partly the reason why he had been taken on by Sir Hellsing, though he never actually knew it. Sir Hellsing had laid eyes on him, saw what he could do, and immediately decided he wanted him. He was a hard working boy, a boy that was extremely well mannered, a quiet boy that did not ask stupid questions.

And a boy that fought with all his will even surrounded and outnumbered. True, the day Sir Hellsing met him; he had been too scrawny and starving most of the time. Seven and on death's door if he didn't find a place and soon. His parents had been dead for about five weeks. He'd been barely surviving. Not many hired kids at that age, and jobs were more than just scarce. He would've died had a couple of boys not picked a fight with him. He got the shit beaten out of him, but he hadn't given up, even after they broke his nose and his arm.

Hadn't some part of him actually _liked_ it?

A bleeding mess and on the ground, struggling to get up, the boys had been finally waved away by what he thought to be a concerned older man at first. Something about the blueness of his eyes, lit up with not concern but absolute shining interest caught his attention, even through the pain. He saw the older man switched his cane over to the other hand and reach out to help him up. A well dressed man in a gray pressed suit and a gray hat and a bit of a beard. Blonde and smiling a bit.

That was the day the boy was saved. After that day, everything changed for the better. He was tended to and welcomed into Sir Hellsing's house hold with open arms. He was given a job as assistant butler to Mr. Jennings. He was clothed, feed, sheltered, and given the best education.

But he wasn't happy.

An hour later, the young boy, raven haired with two vivid green eyes and expression that never showed him as a smiling normal child found himself in the lowest dungeons of the Hellsing castle. He'd followed the screaming down here. It was cold and his bare feet were going numb, but he didn't care.

He'd also been forbidden to come down here sternly, but Sir Hellsing himself, but he decided determining whether or not one is sane was worth the risk of getting in trouble. The worse that would happen, surely, would be that he'd be punished and removed of his privileges.

Surely?

Somehow, as another horrific lilting shriek came echoing from his left, the next turn of the hall, he didn't think so. Nope, as he crept closer, following his ears, feeling that cold calmness setting over him, he knew this may not only cost him his job, but, perhaps, maybe even his life.

Was it still worth the risk?

Even at ten, he knew some things were worse than death.

The boy turned the corner and padded softly down the cold stone halls. Dark and trying to grow mold, he could practically smell the age of the place. How many had been dragged down to this place and spent hours being hung by their thumbs? Or maybe other more terrible tortures had occurred in these icy dark passage ways. Who could know for sure? This place was beyond ancient.

The screaming had stopped. Ten minutes and it was done for the night he assumed. The boy stood, frowning. Was it time to try and get some sleep for the seven hours of combat practice tomorrow and other duties or unravel the mystery? He turned the corner, softly and silently. A little further. He probably wouldn't find anything anyway.

There was a door and black windows.

The boy blinked, curious. He walked up to the wall and touched the glass. It wasn't normal window glass. It felt different, special, a bit like the kind in wind shields. Puzzling. This corridor was so old. Surely fifteen hundreds and before. Why would they put that kind of glass here? His fingers brushed over the stone and knew it had been cut fairly recently as far as the age of his building. A hundred years or less. Still, he furrowed his eyebrows, confused. This didn't make any sense. What could be the purpose of-?

Something thumped on the glass from the other side.

From the blackness.

The boy flew back, grabbing at his chest, startled. Another scream was ripped from something's throat. It was a hell of a lot closer and seemed to be coming from in there. His green eyes stared at the glass, trying to understand. Had he just imagine that? The blackness was behind the glare of the yellow electrical lights. Unyielding as ever. Almost taunting.

His eyes glanced at the door.

It was firmly shut, but there was no lock on it.

The windows were still dark and revealed nothing. No screams sounded. All he could hear was the rapid heart beat in his own ears. Felt it banging in his chest. _Liked_ the feeling of it banging in his chest with the controlled breathes of air he was taking. Suddenly, there would be no sleeping. He was beyond curious, and his fingers started for his pockets.

He removed a special pair of gloves Sir Hellsing had him practicing with since he had come here. He dawned them and was pleased at the how familiar and comfortable they were. He was pleased to remember how much his hands had ached in the beginning and how much he'd grown in being able to wield them. Sure, he was still a bit of a novice, but he still could see his potential. A few more years and he'd be unstoppable.

His eyes never left the door.

Now. It would have to be now while the battle hunger had awakened. While all his five senses were the strongest and the desire to use his muscles, his body, in a way he'd been trained to for the past three years. While the fear was shoved back and he was not a ten year old boy any more.

While he was a trained warrior, he would have to enter.

His hand settled on the door knob and turned it.

It was beyond black. The doorway allowed a huge rectangle of yellow light to uncover the floor, like a stretching red carpet you sometimes saw in Hollywood, but other than that, it was pitch black. The floor was made of stone. There was no furniture or anything to be seen. When he stepped into the door way, with his hands open but his fingers hooked like claws, he admired his shadow that stretched taller and bigger than himself for only a moment.

There was no sound and no movement.

The room was completely still.

And he could not be standing here the rest of the night, waiting for this thing to make its first move and questioning the nature of madness. He set himself. His heart beat wasn't erratic, but very steady, if a bit fast. He took a step forward, boring his eyes against the darkness, ready for anything.

He thought.

One hand still out and poised for attack, he reached back with the other and started to look for a light switch. Moments were eternities, yet he was patient. He would no succumb to the fear building in his body. He was not a normal child. He was not a kid anymore. Finally, his nimble fingers found the switch and flicked it up, his eyes stern and all-seeing.

Ready.

The lights buzzed on.

At first, he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. He stood there, fingers still holding the switch, but his eyes were glued to the scene before him. There had been a table in there, and even a chair. The light bulb at the ceiling was swinging back and forth, hypnotically. Half of it was bathed with blood splatter. Blood was splashed on all the walls, across the windows. It was dripping off the table and soaked into the chair. He wasn't standing in it, but about a few inches from his foot, there was a puddle that he could've considered to be a pond.

And sitting in it?

It _looked_ like a man. It had a head, a torso, two arms, and two legs. It had long black hair. It had a nose, five fingers, two ears, long finger nails, and clothing. It was a straight jacket, of course, but it was still clothing. His arms were not bound; they stayed but its sides. Everything his sight told him was that it was human and in considerable pain. Maybe even near death because it didn't appear to be breathing.

Needed help.

But the fear within was screaming in protest.

The boy stood, frozen, studying and trying to see past all the blood. He saw the thing move its human-appearing head and saw a hint of a face before the hair tumbled back and hid it. He saw the mouth open and the two giant and fierce looking fangs, white as pearls and sharp as daggers. He heard the metal clasping jingling as it shifted, yet he couldn't move.

He could not hear it breathing.

When the thing rose, the boy found himself already moving. He left the doorway and backed against the wall, his fingers already flying and weaving the little wires that had been built into them. They danced like the finest silk, spider webbing twinkling like winking stars. He worked his fingers like a puppet master and twirled that wire about. It curled around its neck, its arms, its legs, and its torso. With a flick of his wrist, he bound the thing up tighter, tight enough not to remove anything, but just tight enough to make sure it couldn't budge.

His green eyes were vivid and watching, battle hunger singing within him.

But the thing stood there, eyes hidden out of sight under that hair.

It stood at full tight, blood dripping off of it. The sleeves unruffled and fell further down those thin arms, covering its hands, the straps swung like pendulums. That hair went past its waist, midnight and straight. It parted and he saw a bit of demonic face, extremely handsome, but demonic. Its eyes were glowing crimson.

And staring right at him.

The boy watched it grin, sadistically. Felt the fear that all children experience when confronted with the boogieman. It's the kind that comes from instant belief in all you see and hear. The thing that also rose up from within, that very few children felt, was the singing urge to draw blood. To move and inflict damage. The urge to kill, despite that fear burning in his chest.

But he did not smile back.

When it lifted its arms, the boy twitched his hands and drew them into fists. He used just enough control to cut it, but not dismember. The blood bloomed like red roses when it hit the walls in a spray. He expected there to be painful screaming, but it made no noise.

Instead, it flew at him.

It was too fast to see. One minute the thing was standing at one end of the room, the next it was right in front and looming over him. Hands reaching out and trying grab. The boy withdrew, his green eyes widening in disbelief as the thing towered and watched him swerve. He ducked out of its grasp and pulled all the strings with one jerk of his fists, the child still living within him winning out for the crucial moment.

The blood was not a simple spray, but a tidal wave. It gushed and hit his face. Not hot, not warm; ice cold to the touch. Stuck in a state of shock, he saw its arms fall to the ground and crumple in on itself, cut in half. It should've been nothing but a hunk of dead rotting flesh. He'd killed it. Yet, he stared down at it as it continued to move.

It even started to chuckle lightly.

The boy withdrew from it, eyes wide and the child within escaping the battle hunger and taking full command of the situation. He turned, saw the door, and tried to run for it. His hands flew out towards it, even as it flew shut on its own occurred. Worse, he couldn't even reach the knob. He pulled, but his strings were snug and tight behind him. Holding him back. Unyielding and unloosening. He twitched his fingers, trying to get them back, but no, they would not come.

He turned over, trying to see what the problem was, what the heck he was stuck on. What the wires were having difficulty cutting through. The problem was that the thing was getting up and holding them. With its _teeth._ Black smoke and the blood on the walls were seeping back into it and it was trying to _stand._

The chuckling grew louder.

The boy could not scream.

He stared in horror as the arms swirled like smoke and dribbled back into its body. Watched them reattach. Watched the thing twist and the hair to part to show its red eyes staring at him, even still. They were bright with murderous enjoyment. Those teeth were huge and being shown off with every chuckle, even as they released his wires.

And he should've panicked and started screaming. Except he didn't. The boyish face he thought he had shed away now broke out into a happy smile as he twitched his fingers, relishing the feel of the wires swirling under his grasp.

When the thing rose and came towards him, he ducked out of its grasp again and continued his artful finger work. He kept shredding the thing apart, again and again. Each time his strings cut, it regained that part of itself. He was frightened, but he was also exhilarated.

Exhilarated until the thing finally got too close and slammed him against the wall. A hand curled under his chin and dug into his throat. The boy grabbed at that hand, for own throat as the monster, the evil demon, lifted him off the ground like he was a rag doll, continuing that soft dark giggling, but it was dying now. It was going away. The game was over for it. The boy couldn't get his breath back and was clawing for it, choking. His strings were nothing now. He was going to be nothing now.

Now he was going to die.

"Silly boy. Only stakes and silver can defeat a vampire." It said. Its voice equally dark and pretty.

The boy watched as that handsome face started to close in on him, its mouth opening again, bearing those long fangs. The concept of a vampire was much easier for a child to accept than an adult. Now, the monster had a label and a weakness, but it was useless. He had not the tools to combat and win. Just his hands and his strings. Nothing else.

He struggled still, however, even though there was no escape. Two inches from his body, the boy withdrew his hands and tried to kick him, to give himself some time to work his nimble fingers.

Anything.

It didn't work. The strings flew away as if by magic and the thing snorted in annoyance. He was getting light-headed from the lack of air. He kept taking shallow breathes and watched the thing close in on him.

"Enough. Quit fighting-" it purred.

"No." the boy growled softly. It was faint and strangled, but still a snarl.

This was not how it could end. Not like this. Not when he'd struggled to become what he was. Not now. Never now. There was still so much for the future. Lost and without hope, survival instincts had kicked in and were at full bellow inside.

Dad and Mum wouldn't have wanted their son to die this way.

_He_ didn't want to die this way.

The boy kicked, banged, and even opened his mouth and attempted to bite it. Nothing worked. There was no escape. The thing only chucked, but not as humored as before.

"No?" It asked, withdrawing its handsome face.

It looked at him singing in its red eyes.

Regarded him coldly, as the boy felt something tingle faintly at the back of his mind. It was a touch. It wasn't disgusting or pleasant. Subtle. He almost couldn't even feel it.

"You wouldn't like to die this way? Then perhaps you'd like to see the full extent of my powers? Very well, boy…"

The vampire stopped. He stood statue-still for a moment, but his form began to quiver. He was smiling again, grinning growing larger, but it seemed his teeth were gritted more together than before. The boy continued to struggle. This wasn't good. He knew he was dead, but his body hadn't caught onto that fact yet.

He was doomed.

Saw that its form was trying to twist, trying to change. He saw it rumble and quake. Heard it start to growl even as its eyes narrowed as its body shifted the slightest. It didn't sweat, but if it had been human it would've started. The boy could feel that death grip on his throat loosen and stole more air greedily as he watched the monster.

He saw those red eyes suddenly go from playful, to frustrated. His teeth pressed closer together, gritted down hard enough to start to crack its jaw. The boy waited for the ultimate horror. A billon things flicked through his imaginative mind, but he kept telling himself it would be beyond him. He could never imagine this. This would drive him mad for sure.

Something lurched and bubbled beneath the straight jacket on his shoulder. The boy's eyes flew there, saw it move, a huge lump struggling to free itself. The smile suddenly widened as the boy heard and saw the cloth rip. Now he suddenly understood. It was trying to break free of its human form. To change. Changing into something far more ghastly. Something beyond all horror. Looked like he'd been right. He wouldn't be able to imagine. He caught the flicker of a red eye or two in the swirling blackness beneath and knew insanity would be just the beginning.

But then that ungodly screaming started up again.

Suddenly, the boy fell to the floor, heavily on his ass. The thing had let him go, but he couldn't tare his eyes away. The vampire had released him, but now it was writhing in some kind of agony. That fanged mouth was open and yawned back in a silent scream as it rocked back and slammed into the wall. Eyes screwed shut.

Its hands flew out and on the backs of them burned odd circles and stars. Bright gold and almost white, it sang a pretty melody that made the boy want to smile a bit with contentment. It sounded like angels singing. Soft harps and the twinkling of bells played softly and were eventually drowned out by the ungodly shriek of pain.

Mystery solved.

"NO!" it screamed in frustrated agony, "NOT ME! NEVER ME! No seal will ever-" But another half chocked, half wailing shriek erupted out of its throat as the angelic singing tripled.

Its red eyes roll to the back of its head. Those fangs buck out, still screaming and screaming. It stopped when those fangs buried itself into its arm and a torrent of red liquid flew up and hit the ceiling. The blood fell from above and rolled out of its arm, to the floor and into the puddle again. Even tumbled from its white eyes. Red tears. It fell to its knees, sobbing, but growling with rage at the same time. Banged its head into the wall, its back, and leaned forward and fell on the floor in a loud thud, metal clips jingling right in the puddle.

The boy stared.

The next moment his black gloved hands were on it and he was trying to restrain it. Stop it from doing any more damage to itself. Kneeling in the ice cold redness, feeling it soak through his pants and his hands, equally cold. The movement didn't make any sense to him at all. His body just did it. He claimed a hand on its shoulder and on his side, but was unable to keep it from shaking like that. Panicked, his little kid voice was out of the box in his throat.

"Stop!" He yelled, green eyes wide.

And for a wonder it did.

The angel music was gone. It wasn't breathing or moving anymore, but at least it had stopped screaming and shaking. He held on to it, just incase it started bucking again. He felt himself shivering and didn't understand why.

"Don't waste my time with your sympathy, _human_." It growled inhumanly, but also sounded exhausted. Exhausted and frustrated.

And even a bit despairing.

Was it sympathy? The boy searched himself and was surprised to find it was. The thing tries to kill him and what does he do? He tries to help it. Something about that was just as stupid and disheartening as watching this monster roll about in unspeakable pain, even if it was going to kill him.

"What kind of warrior am I?" The boy asked himself, shaking his head, but he was smiling too. Just a little bit. And why was he crying? He let the monster go and whipped a few of the tears away from his eyes, angrily, smearing blood on his face unaware of his dirty hands. What the hell was happening here?

"You were fun." The vampire retorted from the floor.

"Don't you mean you _had_ fun?" The boy asked, trying to keep the sniffle from his voice. This was just way too bloody weird.

"No." It replied, "What's your name, boy?"

"Walter C Ddollneazz." He replied, despite himself. "…What's yours, Sir?"

"My master insists on calling me Alucard." The vampire replied.

The monster placidly turned over and looked at him. His hair fell away from his pretty face and his red eyes were singing again. The boy felt a bit uncomfortable under that crimson gaze, but he said nothing. His fingers twitched, ready to use the wire that was laying on the floor about them, but he didn't. Something made him stop, even if the vampire saw it.

"Yes, I do believe that is enough fun for tonight." Alucard replied.

"What are they _doing_ to you to cause you such pain, Mr. Alucard?" Walter asked.

"It's a long story." Alucard said, laughing a bit and smirking sadistically from the floor.

Yet his eyes did not leave the little warrior. Yes, the boy had proven to be fun, and would be far more fun soon. Alucard had peered into his mind and found something very interesting indeed. Those wired gloves were so very fascinating and humorous. Remarkable little weapons. But then humans were masters at weaponry weren't they? Alucard had seen that through out the years.

Yes, Walter was still just a boy, but as a killer…Well, he'd be in his prime in about a year or so. Given enough diligent practice and moral. Yes, he had been enjoyable little distraction from tonight's escape trick. He was only a mere boy. It was impressive.

For a human.

Walter looked at him, warily, but a smile was trying to escape the solemn look on his face. He didn't want to let it escape because if he did, his fingers would loose control and start the whole thing up again. Why? Because the vampire was right. This had been very pleasurable. He was panting and his throat hurt, but he was still pleased.

So Walter shrugged.

"I don't mind, Mr. Alucard. If you have time, I'd like to hear."

Book Dragon:

"Yup, this was just a result of wondering about two things. One, what the first meeting between Walter and Alucard might have been like. Two, what the punishment would be if Alucard tried to go beyond his restrictions. Did you like it? I'd appreciate reviews, even if they are flames send them, okay?"


End file.
